A Glimpse Into Grief
by wineskin
Summary: My first and probably last fic; needed to get this out so I could resume my life. A post series finale look at Peter mourning the death of his friend over the course of a year. Will probably come to 4 chapters. All of the usual disclaimers apply; I own nothing.
1. Chapter 1

Peter didn't know how long he'd been sitting there on that hard bench, head in hands, trying to get a grip, get his breathing to even out, when he felt someone sidle up next to him, place a gentle hand on his back and pull him without speaking, into a fierce grip. He didn't have to see her to know who those hands belonged to. He'd recognize that touch and floral scent anywhere. He fell against her without looking and choked back a fresh wave of sobs, afraid if he let the tears start falling again, they'd never stop; this was a luxury he couldn't afford here, in this stale and very public corridor, feeling naked and exposed. He reigned himself in as best he could after several minutes and pulled back slightly without letting her go and blinked through tear-filled eyes to gaze at his beautiful wife; she was trembling. He ran his hands over her matching tear-stained face.

"How" he stumbled, "Who called you?" choking out the words.

"Diana", she choked back. "Came as fast as I could."

He nodded sadly.

"Hon", she whispered, stroking his hair with one hand, locking her fingers with his in the other, "let me get you out of here, okay?" That was all she could do for him at this point, there were no words of comfort, nothing to offer that would bring any solace or relief – she could take him home and put him to bed and curl up tightly in his arms and hold him until the end of time, and that was about it. It would have to be enough for now.

She stood first and gently tried pulling him to his feet. She got him that far but when she tried to lead him out of the first and last morgue she hoped to God she'd ever have to set foot in, he stood rooted to the spot, looking for all the world like a lost child, clutching Neal's possessions in a fist-iron grip.

"Hon"? She queried.

He turned and looked at the door where his partner lay lifeless on the other side – "I", his voice broke, "I don't want to leave him"…"leave him here alone"…he looked back at her helplessly and shrugged his shoulders – "I know that sounds crazy…"

Her heart, what was left of it, shattered. What do you say to that, what words of wisdom could she summon for the love of her life who was shattered himself. She leaned in close and cupped his face tenderly in her hands…"not crazy, makes perfect sense, but you're not leaving him alone, you're taking him with you, he's right here", rubbing her hand over his heart; "he's safe now."

He looked at her with such despondency and grief, she wasn't sure they'd make it through this in one piece. "One minute at a time", she told herself. She wrapped her arm around his waist and this time, he allowed himself to be led out of the building.


	2. Gone But Not Forgotten

He tilted his face up to the sun and soaked in its warmth, the Vitamin D, and any other nourishing properties it afforded, hoping it could heal his soul as well.

"Mind if I join you or is this a party of one", a gentle voice said behind him. "I come bearing gifts if that counts in my favour."

Peter turned and smiled; he couldn't remember the last time he smiled; his face hurt from the effort. June had a bottle of Shackleton in one hand and two tumblers in another. "Sorry, "just needed to slip away for a minute, far from the madding crowd and all that. Don't know when I'll have this view again" he said sounding wistful. "I wanted to take it in one last time."

"I'm not going anywhere Peter. Anytime you need to come here, take some time away just for yourself, my door's always open." She placed the bottle and glasses on the table and pulled up a chair.

He smiled gratefully at her. "Thank you June. It's a safe bet I'll be taking you up on that offer."

They sat there together in companionable silence, each lost in their own thoughts and memories.

"You spoke so lovingly of him today" June said to him after a spell. "It was a beautiful tribute."

"Well, I loved him" was his simple reply. "Thank you for singing June, you were perfect, it was perfect – he would've loved it."

"I don't know how I got through it to tell you the truth – your wife is quite the persuasive one."

"Don't I know it."

June considered her next words carefully; she felt she owed him this. The man was clearly suffering. She cleared her throat, "I'm sure I don't need to tell you this but just in case you needed to hear it, today of all days…you were his hero Peter, his knight in shining armour. When he would speak to me about you and Elizabeth, it was with wide-eyed wonder, how a poor kid like him, from the wrong side of the tracks, could find redemption and a family of his very own, in the very man who arrested him, well, it was something of a miracle to him." She paused for a minute, then reached over to take his hand in his. "I know we haven't always seen eye to eye over the years where Neal and the letter of the law is concerned Peter, but I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt you always had his best interests at heart and that his safety and well-being were paramount to you." She sighed and leaned back in her chair, "and that meant a lot to this old bitty of a lady, that you had his back."

Peter appreciated the sentiment but couldn't help indulging in a moment of self-loathing. "Apparently not enough or he'd still be here. Epic fail on my part."

"Peter", her voice was severe, in a tone that brooked no argument. "That's a bunch of bunk and you know it and everyone else knows that not to be true, including Mozzie, and you know he'd love to pin this on you or the FBI if he could, but he can't, because as much as it pains me to say it, this is all on Neal. Heaven knows I loved that boy like my own but he was reckless and even the mighty Peter Burke couldn't do the impossible and save him from himself. Now, that's the last I want to hear from you on that matter, understood?

Peter had to smile at that. "Yes maam." He brushed at his eyes roughly. "Thanks June. That means a lot, especially coming from you. I was afraid you always saw me and my kind as the enemy."

"Your kind maybe, not you." She winked at him. She reached for the Shackleton and poured them each a generous glass. "I think this is almost worthy of him" she said, offering him a glass.

He swirled the liquid gold and added softly, "as were we". The sun was setting, the cityscape had never looked prettier. He would commit this moment to memory.

"To Neal George Caffrey, a man who loved and was loved". They raised and clinked glasses.

Peter couldn't have said it better himself.


	3. What's In A Name

Peter was in his happy place, as content as he could be these days, sprawled out on the couch with a very pregnant Elizabeth laying against him. She didn't start showing for the longest time and now that she was, he loved nothing more than to rub her belly and feel their baby squirm and kick under his hands. That such a gift could be given to them now, especially now, after everything, well it seemed like a miracle, and he wasn't one to throw that word around lightly.

"Hon"? Elizabeth tilted her head up at him.

"Mmm", Peter murmured in response.

"We should give some serious thought to names for this little guy."

Peter kissed the top of her head. "I thought you were high on Jonathan or Kyle." Truth be told, he really didn't have a strong opinion on the matter one way or the other; she was giving him a son, she could name the kid whatever she liked.

She maneuvered herself slowly up from Peter so they could have this conversation face to face. She took his big strong hands in hers. She spoke warmly, gently, "I like those names, they're good names but", she paused, "I've been thinking…how would you feel if we named him after Neal?" This could go either way she thought and held her breath.

This he wasn't expecting. He was worried for a nano-second she was going to throw her father's name at him which may have given him pause. "Neal?" He said his name in a hushed tone. "You mean, Neal, Neal, like, our Neal?"

Elizabeth had to smile and kiss him for that. "Yes hon, our Neal. I just thought, it would be a good way of honouring him you know, plus, I really do like the name.

Peter gripped her hands more tightly. "Hon." His voice faltered. "I love that idea", blinking back tears that were always so quick to fall these days, "but, you don't, I don't want you doing this just for me."

She reached out and stroked his face with the back of her hand. "I wouldn't be doing this just for you", she said softly. "I'd be doing it for us. I loved him too hon."

"I know you did, and he loved you." Peter smiled "Half the time I worried he'd steal you away from me right from under my nose." That got a bark of laughter out of her, something the Burke household was in rather short supply of the past few months. He pulled her in, tucking her head under his chin, and held her. He rolled the name around in his head for a minute then tried it on for size out loud,"Neal Burke – I like it."


	4. Diamonds or Pearls

Peter was the father of the most beautiful baby boy that had ever been born in all of time and he had several hundred pictures to prove it. Elizabeth had undergone a scheduled c-section and he was almost rendered speechless when the nurses placed the tiny, swaddled bundle in his arms. He was perfect. "Hey buddy, I've waited so long to meet you." He kissed the sleeping infant all over his face while Elizabeth looked on and cried the happiest kind of tears.

He had a spring in his step the next morning as he sauntered into Elizabeth's favourite jewellery store. He wanted to buy something for her en route to the hospital as a small token for giving him in turn the greatest gift she would ever bestow on him.

In the interest of time, he had called ahead and asked the store's proprietor, whom he had become friendly with over the years after many Christmas, birthday and anniversary purchases, to set aside a few items he thought Elizabeth would like.

He walked in the front door and was greeted immediately. "Monsieur Burke! There's the new dad, how is fatherhood treating you so far?"

Peter shook the Frenchman's proffered hand and grinned so wide he was sure his face would split in two. "Henri, good to see you. It's been less than 24 hours but so far so good; I haven't dropped him yet."

Henri laughed and clapped him on the back. "Please pass along my best wishes to Mrs. Burke." He motioned for Peter to follow him to the back of the store. " I've laid out some lovely pieces I think would meet with her approval."

Peter perused the items selected for him; they were all lovely yet all very different. Sure he was a senior ranking official in the White Collar division of the FBI but when faced with the daunting task of buying his sweet wife jewellery he became twitchy. A half hour went by and he was no closer to making a decision. Then it hit him and hit him hard; Neal. Neal was usually here with him for most of those Christmas, birthday and anniversary purchases, analyzing what seemed like every item in the shop, nixing most of Peter's choices calling him a Philistine in the process, and keeping him there twice as long as he would like. These excursions were right in Neal's wheelhouse and he reveled in it. 'You can't rush these things Peter,' he'd say with an eye roll, 'it's Elizabeth', as if she were Neal's wife. 'Doesn't she deserve the best?' Peter would roll his eyes right back at him but really, what could Peter say to that, so he'd let him do his thing because he knew in the end Elizabeth would open said gift and squeal with joy and declare it perfect.

"Dammit Neal," he said under his breath. He suddenly needed air.

"Monsieur Burke?" Henri had made himself busy in another part of the store to give Peter time to look over the necklaces, bracelets and rings at his own pace.

"Just need to take a call, back in a minute," and Peter was out the door and into the little alley around the corner in 10 seconds flat. He laid his arms against the wall and fought against his increasing rage. "Dammit Neal!" he hollered. "How could you do this to me," he railed. '"You were supposed to be here for this, for me - I'm a dad Neal, and he's so beautiful and you were supposed to share this with me, smoke a cigar with me, show up to the hospital with balloons wearing a 'World's Best Uncle' t-shirt that only you could pull off, reassure me I won't completely screw the kid up." Peter could visualize all of this and more in his mind's eye. "You're ruining everything," he said softly rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes. He righted himself and stood with his back against the wall dragging in deep breaths. One minute he's buying a bauble for his wife, the next he's having a meltdown in a dirty alley. "That's grief for ya", he muttered. At least no one else was privy to it.

He got himself together and walked back into the shop. "Sorry about that Henri. I'll take the tennis bracelet". He could almost hear Neal's voice in his ear, "Exactly, that's what I've been trying to tell you but you were too busy pitching a fit."


	5. A Day In May

Peter knew all the firsts would be particularly difficult and they were; Neal's birthday, Christmas, the day his sentence would have officially ended and the anklet would have come off for good - that was a bad, bad, day, not to mention the recent anniversary of his death. Peter could hardly make it out of bed that day so raw was the pain; awful memories that had finally started receding returned with a vengeance, wounds that had started healing ripped wide open as he re-lived every minute of that day. Peter had tortured himself, staring at the clock on his night table, marking off the final hours Neal had remaining on the earth, 6,5,4,3,2,1, and then, a gunshot, and then, 'you're my best friend', and then nothing. Huge sobs wracked his body, his face buried in his pillow to stifle horrible sounds. Elizabeth had given him a wide berth knowing he just wanted to get through the day without speaking to a soul, but somehow, she knew instinctively when his pain would be too much for him to bear on his own. She crept into their room and much like she had done a year ago, lay down on the bed beside him and held him for all she was worth.

But today was just a random Thursday, an average day at the office filled with meetings; nothing out of the ordinary, nothing to give him pause where Neal was concerned, and yet he woke up feeling sad and he couldn't shake it off, which is how he came to find himself taking a detour on his way home from work, pulling into a certain cemetery and standing in front of a certain headstone. Grief would pummel him mercilessly on the big red letter days but on those run-of-the-mill ones, when it was just about juggling a wife, a baby, and a career, grief would get him then too, the bitch; it was a quieter grief, not as in-your-face, just a familiar dull ache in his chest reminding him of his loss, causing Peter to see his friend's face everywhere he looked.

He brushed off some leaves and debris that had fallen on top of the headstone, then pulled out his hanky to polish it which was mostly unnecessary; the maintenance crew did an excellent job maintaining the grounds and the graves. It was a very calming place and Peter often found his burden a little lighter, a little easier to bear after spending time with him here. He traced his fingers over the name engraved on the marble stone.

"Hey bud, missing you today."


	6. Epilogue

_A/N: Hey, this has been fun, thanks for the kind reviews. This story was really finished with the last chapter but I suppose Peter deserved a happy ending so I added this bit of nonsensical fluff. Thanks to those who pointed out the baby name snafu; it never occurred to me; I just like those names, anyhoo, I righted that. White Collar had my soul-I mourn its demise._

Peter was over the moon, blinded by joy, high as a kite and every other happy cliché you could think of. He didn't know how Neal pulled it off but at the moment he didn't really care, his friend was alive and Peter's world made sense again. Once he put two and two together (and he had to admit he was slow on the uptake on this one), it had taken him all of a day to make the necessary arrangements at work, book a ticket to Paris, throw some things in a suitcase and kiss his little family goodbye.

But somewhere over the Atlantic, when the euphoria dialed down to mere jubilance, the questions began forming, the how's and why's, and he became reflective; there was a lot to process, a lot to digest. There was more he didn't know than he did. Doubts started creeping in. He got a strange sense of déjà vu, jumping onto a plane to find Neal halfway around the world without a moment's hesitation, letting his emotions rule the day. What was he hoping to accomplish if and when he found him and how long was he prepared to look for him…maybe he didn't want to be found; so many questions. Peter had texted Mozzie just before leaving with a brief 'on my way', but the odds were slim he received it and even if he did there were no guarantees he'd share it with Neal.

By the time he disembarked the plane he was skittish and almost prepared to board the next flight back to New York. He had done a good job convincing himself it was enough to know Neal was alive and well; maybe that's all that was intended when he discovered the storage locker. Let the man live his life and wish him well. Except he knew himself well enough to know he wouldn't truly be able to do that until he saw him with his own eyes, in the flesh. Seeing is believing.

He made his way to the luggage carousel with all these thoughts assaulting him. He leaned against a railing waiting for his suitcase to make its appearance and looked at the throngs of people arriving and departing, when a certain coiffed head in the distance caught his eye. "Quit doing this to yourself Peter, it's not him," he admonished himself. But then, like something out of a movie, it suddenly was. Neal. Alive. Breathing. Not dead. Peter was grateful for the railing keeping him upright because his legs were starting to buckle. Any doubts and traces of anger were immediately forgotten. He stood paralyzed, unable to move, afraid this was just an illusion, yet another instance of seeing Neal's face everywhere, convinced if he moved towards him, he would vanish like a mirage. He could see Neal searching the crowd. Do something Peter, he thought, yell his name, wave, don't just stand here, but he was immobilized. It took another minute but Neal eventually spotted him, their eyes locking, blue meeting brown once again. Peter was still half-convinced he was seeing a ghost, except the ghost was moving, fighting the crowds, never taking his eyes off of him, frantically moving closer, until he bowled right into him. Not a ghost then.

Arms wrapped around Peter in a death grip and in a reversal of their Cape Verde reunion, it took Peter a full 10 seconds before he had the presence of mind to grip him back. He was real, warm, trembling, _alive_. Yup, this was worth the trip. "Let me look at you," and he pulled away to hold Neal at arms length, then cupped his teary face in his hands. "Hi," he said softly.

Neal choked out a half sob, half laugh, "Hi", then he bit his lip and reeled Peter back in for another hug. "I'm sorry, don't hate me, it was the only way, I can explain everything," Neal sputtered into his shoulder.

Peter nodded against him fighting against a fresh wave of tears. He had watched him die, cried over his body in a morgue, buried him, grieved and mourned in ways he swore did some permanent damage to his psyche, and now he was in his arms. He was exhausted, physically, emotionally and felt very old, but really he'd never been better.


End file.
